


Between Scylla and Charybdis

by KivaEmber



Series: Persona 5 Oneshots [9]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Persona 5: The Royal, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: Akechi’s eyes were wide in disbelief - then he laughed; a sharp, ugly noise.“Oh!” he leaned back on his heels, his vicious expression softening into a mocking smile, “Iforgot. This is new for you, isn’t it? Fighting alone?”Or;Akira has a near-fatal encounter in Maruki's Palace. Akechi... barely takes it well.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Persona 5 Oneshots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101845
Comments: 18
Kudos: 841
Collections: Ash and Faith Havin’ a Ball, Marigolds Discord Recs, Quality Persona Fics





	Between Scylla and Charybdis

_Shit-!_

Akira’s fingers spasmed for a knife no longer there as his world swirled down to a marbled floor against his back and a drooling maw of savage fangs lunging for his face. Winded, heavy paws crushing down against his fragile rib cage, and acting on panicked survival instinct, Akira wildly shoved his arms up to keep those fangs away - felt the jarring **_crnnnch_ ** of bone-

 _“Motherfuc-!”_ Akira shrieked, the curse cutting short with a sharp cry of pain. Those jaws were clamped tight, the beast - a hulking, raging Chimera - viciously wrenching its head from side to side until something went **_POP_ ** in Akira’s shoulder and his vision wobbled white-black-red, his mental fingers slipping on the mask of a Persona, the pain so absolute it disrupted his concentration and oh _god his arm is going to get torn off-_

“ ** _GET OFF HIM, TRASH!”_ **

-and the Chimera’s jaws were violently prised open by clawed hands. 

Everything was a bit jumbled at this point. Akira desperately trying not to throw up as Akechi wrestled with the Chimera using raw brute strength. No sword, no weapon, no _Persona,_ just Akechi and his bare fucking hands, snarling and going right for the eyes with his claws, fists brutal as he punched the bewildered beast right in its bloodied maw. Maybe it was the element of surprise, or maybe Akechi was just that terrifyingly strong, but the Chimera disengaged with a braying howl, wrenching itself out of Akechi’s range with its serpent tail not quite tucked between its legs. 

“ _Piece of shit,”_ Akechi rasped, not giving chase. He was panting hard, had lowered himself into a protective crouch over Akira like an animal, his scarlet eyes all but glowing beneath his mask- wait, scarlet- glowing-?

 _fuck,_ Akira thought dizzily, _he’s gone psychotic._

Like hearing his thoughts, Akechi’s head twitched towards him. 

Akira had enough sense, addled as it was, to go still.

Despite the danger still closeby - the Chimera was on the fringes, licking its wounds, watching them for a new opportunity - Akechi’s focus was wholly, entirely on him. Akira’s lips parted, just about stemming a croak of his name because it would be pointless. Like this, when Akechi went psychotic, drugged high on the rage and bloodlust of Loki, you just stayed out of the way. He was a typhoon, or a tornado, charging blindly forwards and savaging whatever was stupid enough to stay in his path. Akira kept pace just enough to support him. Very rarely was he _this_ close, _this_ vulnerable, when Akechi was like _this._

 _because i don’t trust him? or because…_

Akechi’s gaze flickered to his shoulder, and carefully, with a gentleness Akira didn’t know he could possess in a psychotic state, pressed his palm against it. Then he _squeezed_ , claws digging _into_ his shoulder and the ruined flesh of his arm, followed by a nauseating **_‘POP’_ ** cracking through the air, and - Akira gasped out an awful noise of pain from it, his vision flashing _white_ as his body spasmed. 

It lasted only for a few seconds.

“ _Stay,”_ Akechi ordered. He ignored Akira’s half-choked _‘fuck you’_ , rising to his feet with a feline grace that almost fell apart the moment his eyes landed on the Chimera. Akechi snarled, wild and crazed, and before Akira could say a word, he was already throwing himself towards the beast with a raw, primal howl of pure rage, 100% committed to beating the shit out of it with his bare hands. 

“I’ll just… heal myself then,” Akira groaned to himself, clumsily digging through his pockets for a Takemi special with his uninjured arm. It was slow going, every movement made him feel sick to his stomach, his head spinning lightly enough that he got seasick somehow, but he managed to get his hands on a Recov-R and swallowed the pill dry. 

Pins and needles raced through his arm, chasing back the pain, and Akira chanced sitting up. His head was still spinning - dizzy, he might’ve cracked his head on the floor when the Chimera knocked him down - and he focused on breathing and trying not to vomit, his good hand pressed against his mask. Akechi would be fine. The guy could punch down a Fafnir with a spear sticking through his chest at this point. Akira could take a moment to himself. 

( _“Stay.”_ )

Yes, okay, mental Akechi, he’s staying like a good boy. 

…

 _i’m definitely concussed,_ he thought woozily. 

A high-pitched squeal like a stuck pig intruded on his spinning thoughts, and Akira slowly lifted his head to see the Chimera dissolving into black sludge, vanishing and leaving Akechi the undisputed victor. He actually killed it with his _bare hands_. That was kind of… hot.

…

 _i’m_ **_definitely_ ** _concussed,_ Akira mentally groaned. 

As if sensing the inappropriate thoughts, Akechi sharply pivoted and pinned him down with a glare so intense Akira felt in his very bones. 

_“You_ ,” Akechi snarled as he stormed towards him, roughly pushing up the visor of his helmet. His face was flushed, his eyes bright - too bright, still glinting with the remnants of Loki’s bloodlust - and teeth bared in a snarl as fearsome as the Chimera’s, “You fucking _idiot_!”

Argh. 

“ _What,_ Crow?” Akira grounded out, the pain making him snappy, his patience crushed right down into dust as he shakily got to his feet just as Akechi drew to a sharp halt next to him. There was a faint ashy smell about him, sharp and prickling, leaving a metallic aftertaste that always left Akira a bit woozy. He knew it was the lingering effect of Loki’s psychosis, the black shroud that licked at Akechi’s heels like hellfire, but, fuck, it made it difficult to think when you were in close proximity. 

“The _hell_ was that!?” Akechi hissed, “Letting yourself get knocked on your ass-”

“I didn’t _let_ anything happen,” Akira snapped, “It just- happened.” 

A lapse in focus. A distraction. Bad luck. Whatever the reason, Akira got caught off guard, the Chimera pinned him down, and now his right arm is just a throbbing pulse of _pain,_ from the tips of his fingers up to his shoulder, the edge only just blunted by Takemi’s medicine. Shit like this happened, except it only got so bad because it was just two of them. No team to back them up. 

Akechi’s eyes were wide in disbelief - then he laughed; a sharp, ugly noise. 

“Oh!” he leaned back on his heels, his vicious expression softening into a mocking smile, “I _forgot_. This is new for you, isn’t it? Fighting alone?”

“I wasn’t alone. I have you, don’t I?” Akira said, pressing his hand against his mask again. He wanted to sit down, but not when Akechi was in this fucking mood, “You helped me.” 

Akechi’s smile soured into a grimace, and he jerked his head, like an agitated horse, “I won’t always have your back, _Joker._ You're lucky I finished off my enemy the moment you got knocked down.” 

Akira debated prodding that crack in composure, but let it slide after a brief pause; “Whatever. Let’s just keep going.”

“Wait,” Akechi snapped the word out as sharp as any cracked whip.

Akira waited. 

Akechi’s eyes were still bright, embers of scarlet that glowed in the stark shadow of his lifted visor. His expression was unreadable, yet intense, saying nothing as the silence drew taut and trembling between them. Akira was braced for the inevitable snap. 

It came when Akechi thrust his hand out with a speed normally reserved for snatching. 

“Give me your arm.” 

Akira, despite himself, _flinched._

It was subconscious, his injured arm pressing close to his stomach as he shied from the extended hand - only to _hate_ himself a split second after when Akechi’s blank expression cracked, a flicker of uncertainty and hurt as his extended hand dropped a fraction at the silent rejection. Shit, Akira hadn’t meant to-

“Sorry,” he said, and held out his arm for Akechi to take, “You startled me. I’m- still a bit dizzy.”

Akechi said nothing, but his movements were considerably slower as he grasped Akira’s arm - gently. He pushed up the torn fabric of his coat, seeing the deep bite marks already scabbed over and healing from the Recov-R. The rest of the healing could be finished in a Safe Room, and while the arm and shoulder will stay sore and weak for the remainder of the infiltration, Akira could endure it. 

“Why didn’t you summon your Persona?” Akechi asked quietly. His head was bowed slightly. Akira couldn’t see his face at all. 

“I was knocked down.”

Akechi shook his head, his clawed fingers flexing around Akira’s forearm. It twinged, but it didn’t hurt. 

“That’s no excuse,” Akechi said, practically biting out the words, “Using your Persona when knocked down, that’s a necessary skill. Especially if you’re on your own.”

 _like you used to be?_ Akira didn’t say, realising now what the source of Akechi’s anger was. 

“Your over-reliance on your teammates…” Akechi began, something heated and strained in his tone. But he didn’t finish. He tugged Akira’s sleeve back down, “As you know, none of my Persona can heal.” 

Akira heard the unspoken order, and gently pulled his arm back, “There’s a Safe Room nearby. I can deal with it there.” 

Akechi nodded jerkily. He still didn’t look at him. 

The walk to the Safe Room was tense. For some reason Akira had the distinct impression he was walking on explosive egg shells, warily eyeing the tense line of Akechi’s shoulders. Takemi’s medicine was kicking in at that point, thankfully chasing away the nauseating wooziness of his concussion, but a throbbing headache remained. 

He hadn’t really given it much thought before, how Akechi handled this by himself. He had infiltrated Palaces, fought Shadows, dived deep into Mementos, all by himself _long_ before the Phantom Thieves were around. None of his Persona could heal, so what happened when the situation went sour? What horrible lessons and ‘necessarily skills’ did Akechi have to learn to mitigate the disadvantages stacked against him? Was that why he was damn near _impossible_ to knock down? Akira was certain Akechi could charge head first through a brick wall and still walk away perfectly fine - though whether from sheer stubbornness or raw invulnerability was up for debate.

Akira spoke before really thinking it through; “How did you deal with it?”

Akechi stopped walking. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said venomously, not turning around, “I just dealt with it.” 

“But…” Akira flexed his fingers, feeling the twinge and jolt of pain from the movement, “You said it yourself: your Persona can’t heal.” 

Slowly, Akechi turned to face him. He was smiling. It wasn’t a very nice smile. 

“You’ll be surprised,” Akechi said very softly, “What injuries a human can endure on their own.” 

The opening was there to ask. _What kind of injuries?_ Akechi’s expression was all but inviting the question, his eyes flinty and his posture defensive. Akira briefly saw his hand flutter over a spot near his ribs, clawed fingers spasming, and thought: _Shido’s ship._

“What injuries?” Akira asked, his voice just as soft. 

Akechi took a step closer to him, then another, until they were standing so close that Akechi’s dagger-sharp chin guard was in danger of lodging into Akira’s throat. The explosive eggshells feeling was back, and Akira had a distinct impression he just broke a whole lot of them underfoot. 

“Are you expecting a litany of wounds to be horrified over?” Akechi hissed, baring his teeth in a snarl. He reminded Akira acutely of a cornered dog, so scared and so used to cruelty that it instinctively lunged for any unwary hand that reached for it, “You think I will let you _pity me_ over something so pointless?” 

“I’m not trying to pity you,” Akira said carefully, holding himself very still, “I was just… curious.” 

“ _Curious,”_ Akechi scoffed the word like it was a curse.

“Yeah,” Akira lifted his chin, leaned in despite how dangerous it was - only a little, only half an inch, but still painfully aware of the jagged edge of Akechi’s mask, designed to keep people away, to cut any who came too close. 

“But I’m suspicious at how defensive you’re being,” Akira added, feeling a little reckless. Combination of the concussion and blood loss, maybe, but the urge was there, pushing at him, “Why are you so angry?”

Akechi’s eyes were still bright, still holding those fiery flickers of Loki’s rage. Akira could practically feel that anger bubbling white hot, so close to the surface it was turning it into steaming slag, but Akechi quivered in place, breathing evenly, not cracking, but not relenting either. Maybe he didn’t know why he was angry. Maybe he had spent so long mired in that emotion it was the only one he could comfortably pull close and huddle under. 

Anger became a familiar comfort, after a while. Less vulnerable. Sharper, hotter, easier to use as a weapon against everything else. Akira understood why he would hide behind it. It didn’t make it less annoying, though. 

“Why are you so angry?” Akira asked again, gentler this time, “Goro?”

“Don’t,” Akechi retreated. He yanked his visor down, and the black mask glared back at Akira, hiding his eyes. There was something taut in his body language, wavering, ready to crumple and snap if Akira pressed his thumbs on the pressure point and _crushed_ , “Leave it, Joker.” 

Akira left it. 

The rest of the walk to the Safe Room was done in complete silence. The tension between them was so stifling Akira tried not to breathe too loud, and when they finally reached their destination, he was certain Akechi was going to take his usual spot loitering by the lockers of the Safe Room and thoroughly ignore him in a petulant sulk. 

Instead, Akechi took off his helmet and dumped it on the table, “Sit down, Joker.” 

Well, this was new. Akira hesitated, but when Akechi shot him a sharp look, eyes still fiery and bright, he sat down on the cushioned stool next to the table without complaint. He really needed to be off his feet for a few minutes, anyways. 

Akechi was staring at his helmet. Akira stared at Akechi. The silence between them pulled tighter and tighter and tighter, a near physical pressure that Akira struggled to swallow against. His arm was radiating pain, but he made no move to summon a Persona to deal with it. 

“Akira,” Akechi said abruptly, “You should heal that.” 

“I shouldn’t waste any SP,” Akira said, belatedly realising that fact. He dug into his pocket with his free hand, “I have a load of Takemi’s meds that’ll deal with it.” Just slower, lacking the instantaneous healing factor of a Diarahan. 

Akechi straightened up with a sigh.

Akira managed to find the small bottle of Recov-R: 100mg, when something thumped against the table. He lifted his head to see that, oh, Akechi’s deadly chin guard _could_ be removed, though it was a little strange to see his ‘Black Mask’ Metaverse outfit without its helmet and tall gorget. Akechi also had terrible helmet hair. 

He popped open the pill bottle, and took two dry. 

“Take off your coat, Joker.”

“Why?” Akira asked, just to be contrary. His sense of humour was crawling back. 

Akechi’s expression cracked briefly, a white hot flash of frustration and irritation just barely swallowed back. Akira found himself fascinated by that raw moment, and didn't look away as Akechi glared at him for one long, taut moment, until he shakily exhaled and stepped close to him. 

“Just do it,” Akechi said, his voice tightly controlled. 

_still angry,_ Akira noted, but he shrugged off his coat, wincing when the sleeve stuck fast to clotting, scabbed over blood. He accidentally ripped a few wounds open, fresh blood beading up in the ragged holes puncturing his arm. The Chimera’s jaws had been huge, and the bite mark covered half of his forearm and nearly up to his shoulder, pale skin blossoming into an ugly, mottled pattern of black and blues around the wounds. 

Akechi moved away abruptly. 

He came back just as quickly, having snagged a white lab coat off one of the nearby hangers. Kicking a spare stool closer, he sat down opposite Akira, holding his hand out as he muttered; “Give me your arm.” 

This time, Akira didn’t flinch. He held out his arm. 

Despite being angry, Akechi’s touch was gentle and precise. He mopped up the fresh rivulets of blood that trailed over the curve of Akira’s bicep, pooling into the dip of his inner elbow. Akechi’s expression was blank, his gaze lowered as he focused on his task, hiding his eyes. That ashy scent still floated about him, though, heady and intoxicating, and combined with the dull ache of bruises and sharp, piercing jab of cloth over scabbing wounds, Akira’s breathing audibly stuttered. 

Akechi stopped immediately, “Does something hurt?” 

Akira felt his lips quirk into a Joker’s smile, “Yeah, the massive bite wound on my arm.”

Akechi looked up at him, his mouth pressed into a thin, unamused line. 

Akira’s smile softened into something more genuine, “It’s fine. Thanks, Crow.”

Akechi grunted, lowering his gaze again. His expression was complicated, a peek of a sharp canine as he bit the side of his lip briefly, long eyelashes concealing the fiery glint of his eyes. The soiled lab coat was set aside, and Akechi just held his arm gently, the sharp, black claws tentatively following the outline of a scabbed over wound just shy of his elbow joint, right in the meat of his forearm. 

“Goro,” Akira said, very quietly. There was a strange mood between them, one he didn’t want to break. 

“It annoys me,” Akechi said, just as quietly, “When you remind me how easy it is to…”

Akira waited, barely breathing as Akechi squeezed his forearm. The bruises ached dully. 

“You need to be more cautious,” Akechi finished gruffly, “Your teammates aren’t here to pick you up off the ground.” 

“But you are.” 

Akechi looked up. His eyes really were beautiful, Akira thought, even with the glitter of fiery rage making them almost glow. 

“You shouldn’t rely on me too much,” Akechi said, “You need to fight as if you’re alone.”

“But I’m not,” Akira said simply. 

Akechi looked pained, like he was the one nursing a seriously mauled arm. 

“You need to fight as if you are alone,” Akechi repeated, clearly trying to convey something Akira didn’t fully understand, “You need to fight thinking only about your survival. No one else’s.” 

A smile played about Akira’s mouth; “Are you angry because I got hurt?”

Akechi let go of his arm as if he’d been burned, “No.”

“You _are._ ”

“I’m _angry,_ ” Akechi snarled, his eyes flashing and his shoulders drawing up tight, “Because you are an _idiot_ who let some lowly Chimera knock you flat on your ass-”

“And you got scared.”

Akechi went still, briefly looking wrong-footed. That had struck a nerve. 

“Right?” Akira leaned in, “Goro?”

“Don’t,” Akechi said, but Akira wasn’t letting him retreat this time. 

“It’s like you said,” Akira murmured, “My friends aren’t here, and your Personas can’t heal. If something bad happens… there’s not much you can do.”

Akechi’s hands were flexing in his lap, clawed fingers twitching as if he was fighting himself from turning them into fists. His gaze lowered, and he looked - angry, but tired, at himself, at Akira, rigid and tense like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. 

“You’re really strong, Goro,” Akira continued, “You’ve survived injuries I doubt I could, and I think you know that.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Akechi hissed, “Fine, I- was. Concerned. About your lack of _survival instinct._ ”

He jabbed a finger at Akira’s arm, “That? That was _lucky._ That could have been your fucking _throat.”_

“But it wasn’t.” 

Akechi lunged to his feet, rushing to loom over him with such violence any other person would think he intended to attack. Akira knew better. Akechi didn’t know how to react to vulnerability except to aggressively crush it, bottle it down, intimidate it into submission. Akira was beyond intimidation at this point. 

_“That’s not the point,”_ Akechi growled, and his eyes were bright, bright, bright scarlet, and his hands were shaking, inches from Akira’s face, like he wanted to grab at his cheeks. Akira stared up at him calmly. 

“Crow,” Akira said, “You throw yourself headfirst at every enemy we come across, and I don’t flip out.”

 _“Flip out-”_ Akechi’s jaw clenched shut, his eyes almost manically wide, “That’s _different._ ”

“Oh?” 

“ _I_ can endure far more than you, you said it yourself,” Akechi snarled, “I have been doing this, _by myself,_ for _years_! I don’t need _teammates_ to survive! I am _not_ weak!”

“So, you’re saying I’m weak?” Akira asked mildly. 

Akechi didn’t immediately answer. His hands were still hovering, inches from Akira’s face, his eyes wide and sparkling fiery bright from Loki’s rage. It was all bluster, really, loud and attention seeking, distracting from how pale he was, how his gaze kept snapping to Akira’s arm and then his throat, clearly caught on the _‘what if’_. 

Akechi was angry, but he was also terribly afraid, and was angry that he _was_. 

“If we’re going to infiltrate Maruki’s Palace together,” Akira said softly, “You need to trust me. Shit’s gonna happen and both of us will get hurt. Hopefully the others will get a clue before we die or we kill each other, and we’ll finish this as a team. Until then, you can’t tie yourself in knots about me getting hurt. It’s gonna happen.” 

Akechi let out a rough noise, but his posture started to relax. Akira visibly watched him slowly pack away this brimming rage and fear until he was expressionless, his shaking hands dropping to hang loosely at his sides. 

“I know that,” Akechi said dully, a far cry from his earlier bluster. 

“But emotions are irrational, huh?” Akira guessed, smirking when Akechi shot him a dull-eyed glare, “S’okay, Crow, I get it.” 

“You don’t,” Akechi muttered, and he sat back down on his stool heavily, looking faintly lost. 

Akira decided to extend the olive branch. He reached out, slowly, telegraphing his move, and curled his fingers around Akechi’s hand. The sharp edges of his claws could be felt even through the fabric of his gloves. 

“Hey,” he said, waiting until Akechi reluctantly looked up at him, “Thanks for saving me, Crow. I appreciate it.”

Akechi grunted and turned his head completely away, his face hidden behind his hair. His ears were pink. 

They sat like that for a bit, Akira holding his hand, waiting until the Recov-R healed up his mauled arm enough for it to be reasonably functional. It ached, the wounds were ugly and scabbed over, the bruising easing into a mess of greens and yellows, but the pain was distant and it was time to move on. 

Akechi hadn’t looked at him once, but he stayed. He didn’t pull away. 

That said volumes. 

“I think my arm’s better now,” he said, reluctantly breaking the strange, comfortable calm between them. Akechi’s fingers twitched against his hand, “You ready to keep going, Crow?”

“Obviously,” Akechi said, and he stood up and pulled his hand away, “Come on, Joker. I need to kill something.” 

Akira pulled his coat on as Akechi reattached his tall gorget and helmet, hiding his face behind his black mask. Before they left the Safe Room though, Akechi touched Akira’s shoulder, halting him. 

“You need to learn how to summon your Persona when knocked down,” he told him, “I might not be there next time to bail you out.”

“Got any tips?” Akira asked half-seriously. 

“Yeah,” Akechi shouldered past him, “Anger blocks out pain.”

Akira watched him leave the Safe Room, mouth twisted wryly. He really did just survive out of pure spite and rage, huh? Well, if it worked for him… 

He straightened out his coat and followed after his rival, and back into danger.

**Author's Note:**

> every time i try to write something sweet or porny this happens im cursed


End file.
